Finding You
by laurajane81
Summary: It was as if the air had inexplicably disappeared. The atmosphere tensed, and an icy chill slid down Rachel's spine. She had never heard a scream like it; she thought of all the different screams she had heard in her life. Screams in plays at the end of a tragic love story, in movies when someone was eaten alive, out in the street when the kids next door chased each other in tag.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: _This probably won't be very long, but I do plan on extending it to maybe four parts, maybe more, maybe less. I wrote this a while back and was going to make into a full-blown multi-chapter story, but then exams took over and I forgot about it- it will probably be a sort of novella now, hopefully. I'm not sure how soon this will be updated, because I have random bits written that need to be linked up. I don't own anything- if I did Glee would be the Puckleberry Show, haha. Thank you for reading and please review!_

Author's Note 2: _This is rated M for a reason: violence and distressing content. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION._

Finding You, Part I

_**Rachel**_

_Today is going to be a great day_, thought Rachel Berry brightly, looking around cheerfully. It was beautiful - the sun was shining hotly from a cloudless sky, casting a lively glow over the school campus and warming her bare legs comfortingly. She and Finn strolled at a leisurely pace across the parking lot, their linked hands swinging; for once, Finn had not been late this morning and had been able to pick her up and drive her to school, which had been a lovely surprise, topping off her sunshine-induced good mood. More often than not, she received a hasty text, _gonna be late_,_ sorry_, and had to either drive herself to school in the car she and her Daddy shared or walk around the corner to catch a lift with Noah, who, while entertaining company, had driving skills that left rather a lot to be desired.

"Are you free first period?" she asked Finn as they reached their lockers in the crowded hallway, checking her hair in the mirror installed on the inside of the small metal door. "I thought we could go to the library and I could help you with your English assignment, I know you're a little behind on it. It's due the day after tomorrow, you know."

"Sure," chirped Finn, staring at the textbooks in his locker as if he wasn't quite sure how they ended up in there. Ignoring the fact that, although almost everyone had finished finals, Finn still had Geography, all of Finn's textbooks were gathering dust in his locker, Rachel reached up and rummaged.

"It's this one." She tugged the blue volume out from the bottom of the short pile, handing it to him.

"Thanks, Rachel," he said, smiling her that dopey, one-sided smile that fluttered her heart. She smiled back, admiring the diamond on her left ring finger as she deposited the books she didn't need until after lunch into her locker.

"Hey, Rach," a voice from her left shoulder said. Rachel turned and saw Noah at his locker, which was a few doors to the right of hers, wrenching the door open and thrusting a pile of papers into it which promptly fell back out. He saved them from being trampled on and pushed them unceremoniously back in, forcing the door closed on them. She rolled her eyes lightly, smiling. She was glad to have found close friendship in Noah; she felt that he was really applying himself to his studies at the moment in order to _get out of this cow town_, as he so eloquently put it. She helped him often with his school work and came to his house with Finn sometimes - the boys usually played _Halo_ together while she chatted with his mother and sister or alphabetically ordered his DVD collection. She felt oddly proud of him - she knew from her talks with his mother that he was all set for college and had been actually studying a little, even after she'd left one of their study sessions.

He waved his English textbook at her. "Can you help me on the English assignment? 'M stuck."

"Good morning to you, Noah," said Rachel pointedly, only to receive a dashing grin and an eyebrow-raise in response. "And, are you stuck, or have you just not started it yet?"

"Well … both."

It was Rachel's turn to raise her eyebrow, sighing. "Yes, of course I'll help you," she said resignedly. "Finn and I are going to the library first period to work in his, would you like to join us?"

"Sure," he said. "Hey, you get a lift this mornin'? I waited a bit but you weren't, like, freakishly early like you normally are and having breakfast with my ma, so I left."

"Oh, yes," said Rachel, "I'm sorry I didn't inform you this morning. Finn was, rather surprisingly, early today and he brought me to school."

"Makes a change," Noah teased lightly, raising his voice slightly so that Finn could hear over the ruckus of students. Finn scoffed playfully in response, glancing up from his phone on which he was texting.

"Well, see ya's in the library in ten. I gotta go get my gym stuff from the truck, I just realised I forgot it," said Noah, smiling down at Rachel and fist-bumping Finn on his way down the hall.

"Bye, Noah," said Rachel, smiling at Mercedes and Tina as they made their way down the hall. Checking she had everything she needed, she folded over the flap on her schoolbag and cradled her textbooks against her chest. She gazed up at Finn expectantly, who was frowning at his phone, mystified.

"Are you ready to go, Finn?" she prompted. The mob had now thinned considerably, leaving only about a dozen latecomers collecting their things and chatting; she knew that the bell signalling the start of first period would sound soon. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh! Yeah," he replied, not taking his gaze of his phone. "What does 'proclaim' mean? I can never understand Kurt's texts, they're like yours, only worse."

Rachel wasn't sure whether to role her eyes or laugh. It was almost unbelievable the amount of texts she received from Finn which simply read, _What?_

"It means -"

Rachel was cut off by a loud bang coming from down the hallway. The few students who remained slowed, people looking to their friends, puzzled. A soft mutter of confusion spread, and everyone, including Finn, turned to stare at the end of the corridor, which was deserted. Then, after a gap of about five seconds, there was a long, chilling scream.

It was as if the air had inexplicably disappeared. The atmosphere tensed, and an icy chill slid down Rachel's spine. She had never heard a scream like it; she thought of all the different screams she had heard in her life. Screams in plays at the end of a tragic love story, in movies when someone was eaten alive, out in the street when the kids next door chased each other in tag.

Happy screams, sad screams, screams of heartbreak, joy, shock and hatred…

This was none of those. It was a scream of pure terror, of desperation and dread. It was hoarse, the girl's voice breaking at the end, and in her scared confusion, Rachel's mind flittered uncontrollably to the inevitable damage the girl's vocal chords were undertaking. The scream was followed seconds later by another, and another, though the milliseconds between shrieks seemed like decades. There were other sounds, too; yells, cries and prayers, and they were followed by more bone-rattling shots.

Rooted to the spot, Rachel suddenly realised that people were shoving past her when she felt her shoulder ram into her locker sharply. She blinked back to life and looked around at the terrified faces rushing down the corridor. She wondered where all these people were coming from; the few stragglers from mere seconds before had swelled to a surge. She reached for Finn's hand, groping until she found her hand encased by his much larger one. He jerked her forwards and she tripped into his back, her legs collapsing beneath her. He yanked her back to her feet and ran, dragging her behind him; Rachel's legs stumbled forwards, Finn's much longer strides meaning that she could hardly keep up.

She heard yells, and even more bangs; her legs were numbing and she could hardly move them. Though she was aware of what was going on - the gunshots had brought her to the horrifying conclusion - her brain couldn't seem to wrap itself around the concept. This was Ohio; she thought she wouldn't have to worry about raving lunatics or school massacres until she had made it to New York, and she wasn't leaving until September! Through her mounting panic, Rachel's mind flew at a manic speed through pointless thoughts; that episode of CSI she had watched where an entire village had been taken hostage, weapon-wielding terrorists on the news, films where attractive youngsters were forced to mutilate themselves to survive horrific situations.

This particular _bang_ registered in her mind more prominently that the others. She guessed there had been maybe twelve shots since the first one a minute or so ago; they had been hazy, blurring into the frantic musings of her mind, seeming far away, as though beyond a veil. This one, however, was sharp. It was ear-splittingly loud, piercing her panic-induced trance sharply; she heard it above the deafening sound of fear.

She almost expected the mind-numbing blow of pain that shattered her left thigh.

She dropped to the ground heavily, her hand slipping out of Finn's, her cheekbone stotting off the tiles with a sickening _thud_. She groped for Finn, seeing his gargantuan legs flailing as he stumbled at the back of the racing swarm. He was staring at her, his head bent round awkwardly as he sped along, their eyes connected. Rachel screamed for him, over and over, desperately. Why wasn't he stopping for her? Why wasn't he racing along with her in his arms, like the hero she knew he was? Why hadn't he just dragged her back up and taken her with him? Why was she lying awkwardly in excruciating pain while her fiancé was already ten yards away?

She could already feel the sickly flow from her thigh; see the dark spread on her flower-printed skirt out of her peripheral vision.

Still she screamed for him, her heart bursting, her throat straining impossibly, all thoughts of impaired vocal chords gone. Finn's eyes flickered upwards, beyond the top of her head, and she saw what she was feeling in his eyes; pure, unadulterated fear. His head whipped away from her without another glance and the last thing she saw was his retreating back racing around the end of the corridor before she could no longer see for the overflowing tears streaming down her face, and the blinding pain seeping through her body.

_**Puck**_

There was no other way to put it - Noah Puckerman was shit scared. It had been approximately five minutes and thirty one seconds since the first shot had sounded; he had been locking his truck and flirting casually with some red-headed Cheerio he had hooked up with a while ago who was back for another ride on the Puckerone.

Now, however, it was chaos. There had been no more shots for a few minutes, and armed cops were climbing out of vans and forming a loose, wide circle around the school's main entrance, where the majority of the students had escaped through a few minutes ago. He had found himself shoved away from his truck which was parked in the closest space to the entrance by some teacher, or a cop, he wasn't sure which. Now he was standing at the back of the parking lot while that police tape you see in movies was being stretched around the school, and his brain was struggling to keep up with what he was seeing.

Staring round, he glimpsed Kurt huddled with Quinn and Mercedes next to some paramedics. He forced his way over, shoving through crying freshmen. He could see Santana, Brittany, Artie, Tina, Blaine, Mike, Sam, Rory, that Sugar chick ...

Where the fuck were Rachel and Finn? Seriously, was it _that_ hard to run out of the school in the same direction as everyone else? He had seen them moments before by their lockers, which, yeah, sure, were at the other end of the school – but he had seen Jacob Ben Israel there too, perving on Rachel, and _he_ was out here, getting sedated for shock or some shit. He tried to suppress the rising bile in his throat as he raced towards his friends, who had now been joined by Schue.

"Has anyone seen Berry? Or Finn?" he barked, only to be met with Schue's trademark deep frown of concern. "Hell, someone fuckin' answer me!"

"No," Tina spoke up, "I was right next to reception with Mike and Artie so we hardly saw anyone."

Swearing under his breath, Puck ran his hand over his mohawk in a nervous habit. He vaguely heard Schue saying his name, telling him to _calm down, everything will be alright_, but he ignored him, because what-the-fuck-ever, everything was _not _alright.

He couldn't believe that it had only been five minutes. Five minutes ago, everything was normal. He was flirting with some chick, he was checking his baby for scratches, getting ready to go to the library and spend a _normal_ morning trying not to strangle Rachel because he regretted asking her for help, _again._

Now, though, he was stuck in some bad cop movie behind some stupid tape, some lunatic fucker was shooting people, and he could hear cops talking about 'hostage' situations or whatever.

He couldn't take his eyes of the reception. He heard someone far away telling him to leave the school grounds immediately, that some teacher was gonna come and do roll call, but he ignored them. He was willing the dirty yellow doors to open, staring at them harder than he had stared at anything in his life, even Beth the last time he saw her. He was chanting in his head, pleading, saying that Hebrew prayer his ma had taught him when he was little and never let him forget.

And then they did open.

He knew it wasn't just his imagination because he could hear shouts, saw cops raise their guns, and, when they realised it was a bunch of about ten students, paramedics rushing forwards with blankets and stuff to meet them.

He saw Finn's head bumbling above everyone else's, his eyes wide and confused as he stumbled down the steps wonkily. Puck felt his stomach loosen momentarily.

It tightened again seconds later. Because _where the hell was Rachel_? Finn was staggering towards him, his forgotten blanket hanging off his shoulder before it dropped completely onto the scorching tarmac. Puck looked at him incredulously, and Finn ducked under the tape, breathing heavily.

"Where the fuck is Rachel?" he demanded, looking frantically around at the congregation of students who had stopped in their tracks on the way to the school gates when the new development had occurred, then remembering that Rachel had no other friends and that if she was out here, she sure as hell wouldn't be over there.

"I – dunno – she – fell – I saw blood and stuff – but then I saw –"

"What the hell?" he shouted, and the panic was clawing at his chest, completely blinding him. He grabbed Finn's collar roughly and shook him. "Did you leave her?"

Finn spluttered incoherently, his eyes wide.

"_Did you leave her in there by herself_?" he yelled, and he was faintly aware of people watching them. "When she's been fucking _shot_?"

Sheer panic was overcoming him. He had no idea what was bringing on such a reaction – Finn, his best friend, was out. But all he could see was _her_, her wide doe eyes filling with tears as Finn's ultimate rejection sunk in.

Her motionless body spread out in a pool of scarlet, those eyes open and glassy … and he couldn't stop himself.

He was under the stupid tape and halfway across the parking lot before he even realised what he was doing. He could hear screams, Schue yelling, footsteps slapping behind him. His brain was going a mile a minute, _go back, go back, go back,_ but he couldn't, his body wouldn't let him, so he kept running and running and running until he was up the steps and in the school reception with the door slammed behind him.

_**Rachel**_

_Finn left me. _

Rachel was reeling. She never thought this would ever happen to someone like her; she had direction, dreams, and ways of making them happen. She was going to NYADA for goodness sake! Getting shot by a frenzied psychopath in a small-town school massacre was certainly not high on her list of priorities. She could hear nothing - only her laboured breathing, her streaming tears, her hammering heart and the sickening sound of pain, which was overtaking all of her senses.

_Finn left me._

She had no idea how much time had passed since she had been shot. She was now wilted against the lockers, having managed to heave herself a foot or so to the left so that she was less likely to close her eyes and pass out. She had no idea what difference it would make, but she felt less vulnerable here than sprawled spread-eagle in the middle of the floor. The tiles were smeared scarlet, right across the hallway from where she had dragged herself painstakingly across the floor- her skirt mas drenched, and she was fighting so hard to keep her uncontrollable sobs of fear and pain and revulsion inside. She didn't know where the shooter was now; she hadn't heard any shots after hers, but she had spotted the twisted legs sticking out of the door to the Spanish classroom before and was not naïve enough to think that the girl – judging by the Cheerio's skirt – was alive. She hadn't looked that way again.

_Finn left me_.

She wasn't stupid - although biology wasn't her strongest subject, she still managed excellent grades in the subject and knew that she was losing a frightening amount of blood at an alarming speed; though she was trying not to look at it, her thigh was slick and red, a thin rivulet of blood slinking slowly down the hallway.

_Finn left me_.

Her mind raced with thoughts, again, pointless ones, trying to keep away from _that_ one. Broadway flashed before her eyes in the form of the empty theatre she and Kurt had sang their hearts out to last year when they were in New York for Nationals, and she thought of the sharp throbs in her leg and wondered if she could still make it with a shattered femur. Her sobs worsened and she felt dizzy, whether from grief or blood-loss she had no idea.

_FINN LEFT ME_.

Rachel felt like her insides were collapsing in on themselves. There was no getting away from the fact – she had shouted for Finn, over and over again, sobbing, screeching, and he had turned around and _left her_. Left her for dead. She had known in her heart the moment she fell and he didn't instinctively reach down to hoist her up into his arms that he was going to leave her there.

It wouldn't have been hard! She barely weighed a hundred pounds; he lifted her all the time!

All she could see was his eyes, glued to hers, and then his head whipping round as he got the hell out of there while she lay dying on the floor.

She wasn't going to kid herself. She knew that she had a tendency to be dramatic, but she knew that that's what was going to happen. She had no idea how long it would take for the police to enter the building – she imagined the scene outside, policeman circling the door, weapons braced against their shoulders and aiming. Waiting. And meanwhile, she was in here bleeding to death, her head feeling woollier with every passing minute, her strength robbed by the irrepressible cries rocking her body agonisingly.

She found it slightly worrying that she couldn't hear anything. She was sure that the shooter was still in the building somewhere; if he had been arrested outside, she was sure she would not be lying here unattended to.

Rachel was surprised she hadn't run out of tears yet; they were still running thick and fast down her cheeks. She wasn't even sure what she was crying about anymore – the fact that she was alone and dying, the pain, the fear, or the awful fact that Finn had _left_ her to die, or all of those. One thing was certain; she was not in control. Not of her sanity, or the situation, or even of her body; she was feeling more and more woozy and it was terrifying her. Being out of control was what she was most terrified of.

Her eyes were closed and her head tilted back against the lockers in exhaustion when she heard it. In fact, she didn't even register it at first. She thought it was yet another figment of her imagination – time had lost all meaning, she could have been slumped here for a year for all she knew. Finn had been running in and out of her dreams – rescuing her, carrying her out of this godforsaken place in his strong arms.

She heard it again. Slapping footsteps on the hard tile, maybe a few corridors away. Terror coursed through her as she pictured the shooter, his gun clasped in his fist. She gulped away her sobs, pointless though it was; they were so weak now she doubted they could be heard. The only evidence of them was the rivers running down her cheeks.

"Berry!"

Her eyes snapped open. The world was blurred, and she blinked furiously, though it made no difference. She knew that voice – only one person in the world called her that. It hadn't been a shout: it had been a fierce whisper, almost a hiss.

"_Berry!_"

"Noah!" she rasped, her voice breaking. She could barely even hear herself. "Noah! Noah!"

There was silence, and she tried to catch her breath desperately. This whole dying of blood loss ordeal was happening quicker than she'd previously assumed, and she coughed violently as she tried to breathe. She heard Noah's boots stotting off the floor, coming closer and closer, until he slid around the corner looking like he had run a marathon. He paused infinitesimally at the corner, simply staring at her. Then he raced to her and fell to his knees in the pool of blood, and Rachel let her eyes fall closed, never having been happier to see anybody in her entire life.

_**Puck**_

He couldn't believe it was her he was looking at.

He knew he shouldn't be just standing there staring, but he was. She was slumped against the lockers down the languages corridor, a terrifying amount of blood surrounding her, her thigh a mangled mess. Her clothes here drenched with blood, and he almost turned and vomited. But he didn't, and he ran to her, because, fuck, that was a lot of blood around her and it is most definitely _not_ cool when it's not _Saw_.

"Oh fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_," he chanted, feeling the warm red liquid seep through the knees of his jeans. He had not a fucking idea what to do, and anger at Finn surged through him – it was quite clear that Rachel was _dying_ and it was his entire fucking fault.

"Noah - you should – get yourself out -" she sobbed, and he realised that she had no idea he'd even been _out_ in the first place.

He looked at her face for the first time. It was swollen and raw, blood swiped across her cheeks from where she had been wiping away her tears, he presumed. Her huge eyes were half closed, having just forced themselves open to bore into his, and he could see her trying to focus on his face, before they fell closed again.

"Berry! Rachel!" he said sharply. He was pretty sure her passing out on him was a _bad_ sign, especially when they were sitting in a bloodbath and her leg was sticking out from the thigh at a sickening angle. Her head lolled to the side and he slapped her harshly.

Her eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling, blinking hard.

"Rach, baby, it's all okay, alright?" he soothed, easing his hand under her thighs. He was pretty sure moving her wasn't the right thing to do, but the hell if they were sitting here waiting for paramedics who weren't gonna be coming any time soon. She flinched as he slid his hand around her back, trying to find an easy way to lift her without her slipping out of his arms from all the blood. "You're gonna be fine, you hear me? Don't focus on anything but my voice, just my voice, 'kay?"

He lifted her as gently as he could, but she gave a sharp scream and arched her back, before her eyes closed again. Her head lolled to the side, and she gurgled slightly – it was a moment before he realised that she was being sick and he dipped her back to the ground again and kept her head turned to the side so that she wouldn't choke. He was pretty sure he was gonna start crying soon, because yeah, he was a badass and everything, but this was too fucking much for anybody to handle.

He figured he was just gonna have to do it. There was gonna be pain whichever way he did this, and he figured she'd rather live and be in pain for a bit than die. He eased his arms around her again, blowing on her face to try to keep her eyes open.

"We're gonna get you out, y'hear? Think happy things," he told her loudly. He knew that the shooter was currently in the cafeteria holding about twenty students hostage because he'd seen him when he was looking for Rachel – tall, dark haired, a short beard. Anyway, he wasn't gonna waste time being quiet when there was no need. "Think about us winning Nationals okay?" he continued noisily. "Remember how you squeezed my hand so tight I thought we should go to the hospital and get it checked out?"

She made a noise that he thought might have been a laugh. Before he could decide, though, her face contorted and she writhed in his arms – he was walking through the corridors now, and he'd had to step over three bodies already. He almost stumbled at the movement but regained his footing quickly. He needed to distract himself as much as her.

"I'm gonna sing to you, 'kay?" he said. "Just focus on my voice, don't think about anything else. _Sweet Car-o-line, bam bam baa … good times ne-ver seemed so good …"_

He kept singing to her just to keep himself sane. The closer he got to the school's entrance the more bodies there were; he saw countless familiar bloody faces, his stomach lurching with every one. He had no idea whether they were alive, or dead, or what. He sang his way through _Sweet Caroline_ shakily, falling off pitch a few times. He looked at Rachel, waiting for her reproach, but she simply lay there, mouth open, one armed jammed against his chest and the other hanging over his arm awkwardly.

He rounded the last corner before the reception at speed and walked towards the door purposefully. He was getting the fuck out of here, no question about it - he was trying very hard _not_ to think about what it was that made him risk his life and play the hero coming in here after Rachel. He could be outside sitting in a warm blanket; but for some twisted form of fate, he was inside the building, trying to escape, carrying a blood-soaked Rachel Berry through the hallways.

Her breathing was shallow – she was well and truly passed out. He could feel the panic eating his throat again, despite the fact that they were mere steps from freedom. If he looked past the smears of blood on her face, Rachel's face was a frightening, sickly white.

Then he saw him. Tall, dark-haired, a short beard.

Here, as if he were waiting for them at the last hurdle.

They stared at each other. It could have been a minute. It could have been eternity.

Puck dragged himself back to life and lunged at the set of doors which would take him through to the reception, beyond which there was another door and beyond that – _out._ The doors banged and swung violently, almost knocking Rachel out of his arms.

The shooter lunged at the same time. Puck hurled himself, in true, dramatic Rachel Berry fashion, through the school entrance, tripping down the stone steps outside.

He heard cries, and a scream he thought was his ma – how fucking long had he been in there? He glimpsed a surge of cops and paramedics, horror on their faces, and he briefly thought about how horrific he must look, carrying a dead-looking Rachel Berry, her head hanging precariously over his elbow, her hair matted, both of them soaked in unbelievable amounts of blood.

He heard the doors behind him crash open.

The first shot in twenty-six minutes rang out, and Noah Puckerman collapsed heavily on the McKinley High School steps, harsh pain shooting through his back, in full view of what seemed like the entire fucking town. Rachel's dead weight crashed down on top of him.

The last thing he heard was his ma screaming desperately.


	2. Part II

_Author's Note: This turned out completely differently to how I planned and expected. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing! I don't think it's as good as part one, possibly because it isn't as dramatic, for obvious reasons. And on the subject of part one, thank you so, so much for the amazing feedback, it was beyond my wildest dreams that I'd ever get such a positive response to a story. Please read and review, I hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything, nor do I intend to offend with the subject matter._

_Rating: M, because of subject matter and language._

Finding You, Part II

_**Rachel**_

Rachel Berry wasn't sure where she was. Was she in heaven? She felt so heavy… and she ached, all over. She wasn't in hell, was she? Because she knew she could abrasive, bossy and conceited but she honestly didn't think that quite warranted her being sent to _hell_.

But then again… she was pretty sure that she wouldn't be lying encased in warm (if a little stiff) sheets if she was in hell.

Then where was she? She felt so tired… she couldn't smell her special strawberry-scented detergent so she wasn't at home. Nor could she feel that pesky loose spring in her lower back. She could smell… cleanness. She hadn't been aware until now that cleanness could even _be _smelled.

It smelled like … a hospital?

What was she doing in hospital? She hadn't been in hospital since she was seven and the pretentious little girl next door had _deliberately _broken her arm by pushing her down the steps of her basement after one of her impromptu Disney Princess shows – she had meticulous health and a scrupulous diet, what in the world could have happened to her to put her in hospital?

She tried to move slightly, but pain shot through her left thigh, and her mind flooded with memory- flashes of faces, running, blood.

She remembered shattering pain, Finn's face, Noah's face, blood, everywhere. She remembered _fear_.

She lay, trying to process. Had she really been _shot_? Shot! And Finn … Finn had _left _her. Bleeding, crying, dying, screaming for him.

In the space of a nano-second, nothing made sense anymore. She was confused- did that even _happen_? Her worst fear had come true – she was out of control. _Why _had he left her? He was supposed to be marrying her for goodness sake! It wouldn't have been difficult at all for him to heave her up into his arms, _dragged_ her through the halls, even. Anything to get her out of there! She was supposed to be his everything, his entire life! He wasn't supposed to be able to live without her, yet he left her for dead after she'd been _shot_?

And Noah. Noah saved her life. He could have just gotten himself out, but instead he comforted her, spoke soothing words – and, if she wasn't mistaken, sang to her? The last thing she remembered was his husky voice, singing to her gently …

She flexed her thigh again, finding it encased tightly; pain swam through her. What about her dreams, her inevitable future? How was she supposed to make it as the greatest Broadway sensation since Barbra if she couldn't walk? She thought of the complicated footwork involved in _West Side Story_ and panicked; how was she supposed to conquer such steps when she couldn't walk? Would she ever walk again? Would she lose her leg? _Was this the end of everything_?

She felt the tears pooling under her eyelids. She realised dimly that she had only been aware for a moment- had she dreamt waking up? Was she even awake? Somewhere to her right, a machine was beeping incessantly, and she became aware of scuffling and shouting around her, not knowing how long this had been going on - her dads? She tried to make out what they were saying, but their voices were very, very far away. She tried to open her eyes but the room was completely blurry – she could vaguely make out the shape of a person, male or female she didn't know, dressed in blue overalls, their face way too close.

"Rachel? Rachel? This is Doctor Gray, can you hear me?"

_Yes, yes I can hear you!_ Rachel screamed in her head. Why couldn't she function properly? She felt completely frustrated at her body, though her mind wasn't far ahead. She tried to gain control of her eyes, but they felt as though they were swimming in their sockets; it was as though she were looking at Doctor Gray's face from under water.

She stayed silent while the doctor fussed around her bed, checking her blood pressure, overseeing the machines. She could feel tears on her cheeks, but she had no strength to reach up and wipe them away – she felt simultaneously fuzzy and focused, her mind alert but all mixed up.

The room still swirled in front of her. She could make out two people close together in the doorway, her fathers, she presumed- she imagined her Daddy's arm around her Dad's shoulders, stroking, soothing gently.

Her body felt leaden, and suddenly, she was overwhelmingly tired. She could hear Doctor Gray talking, whether to her or her fathers she couldn't tell.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift away, blissful ignorance overtaking her once more.

Rachel didn't wake up again until much, much later. At least that's what it felt like; whether it was hours or days she couldn't say. The atmosphere was much quieter; still overcome by weariness, she decided to bask in the peacefulness for a while. The birds were chirping merrily outside the window and, from what Rachel could tell behind her closed eyelids, the light was pale, indicating the early hour. Before she could process any more about her surroundings, however, a familiar voice started up- and it wasn't until then that Rachel sensed people in the room- as if carrying on from an earlier conversation, one she guessed she had missed the beginning of because of her slumber.

"Has she seen him yet?" Noah's mother asked, and she sounded sour. Who was she talking about? Surely she wasn't talking in such a tone about Noah? Rachel wondered why she was _here_. Was Noah okay? She was so frustrated at herself; she didn't even have a clue whether Noah was injured, fine, or _worse_.

Her daddy spoke next.

"No. She only woke up for a second, two days ago. She's been in an induced sleep since. He's been calling though," he explained, sounding unsure. "I'm not sure what to say to him, to be honest. I want to hate him, and I'm angry, but… you don't expect this to ever happen. We can't say what we would do in that situation. I would just want Rachel to get herself out. What Noah did was… out of the ordinary. Incredible."

Mrs Puckerman sniffed loudly. Rachel felt like her mind was being tossed around by a very strong sea-current. She remembered the shock, the complete abandonment she had felt, lying on the floor, bleeding to death, watching Finn flounder down the corridor, without her. The feeling of being alone, deserted. Until Noah had stumbled across her and stopped to help her; he could have easily just gotten himself to safety and left her like Finn did. But he didn't – he stopped and carried her with him. Her own personal guardian angel, albeit a gruff, cussing one.

"When I got the call," Mrs Puckerman continued, "I… I wanted to slap him. I couldn't believe he would be so stupid, putting me through that." She took a deep breath, as if calming herself. "It was Quinn who called me. I knew as soon as I heard her it was bad. I could barely understand her, her voice was shaking… there was just panic, disbelief. I couldn't believe she was talking about my Noah, it – he's – he's a much better person than I ever gave him credit for."

She was whispering by the end, her voice cracking, and Rachel's nose stung with the effort of keeping her tears at bay.

"You've raised a wonderful man, Aviva," her dad spoke up, and Mrs Puckerman broke down, sobbing.

Her speech made Rachel consider her perception of Noah. Sometimes, she thought she was the only one who _saw _him. Mr Schue always assumed the worst of him, as did the other teachers – _Oh, it must have been Puck who started that fight at lunchtime. He's been to juvie, after all._ He got grief from half the female population of McKinley, and treated like a piece of meat by the remaining half. No-one ever seemed to notice the passion he had for Glee, the emotion with which he sang, how he was always prepared and never missed an assignment. And he was really pulling his weight academically at the moment; she knew because she tutored him. He didn't get enough credit.

Rachel thought about Aviva's speech; her sobs were still echoing around the room. She had to admit, she was a little confused. Why would she think Noah stupid? 'Put her through' what? Did she think Noah _chose _to be caught in the middle of a high school massacre? Rachel was starting to wish she had slept through this conversation. She decided that, if she tried hard enough (and with her level of determination that should be simple), she would fall asleep again, wake up later and convince herself that she had dreamt this conversation. She didn't _want _to deal with any of this yet.

Only a few seconds had passed. Rachel pressed her head into her pillows, willing sleep to envelope her again. Her daddy spoke, however, agreeing with her dad.

"He's one in a million. Have you heard what they're saying on the news?"

The _news_? They were on the _news_?

"I haven't heard much of anything," said Aviva, sniffling.

Alert again, thoughts of sleep forgotten, Rachel heard the sound of a drawer being opened to her left, and a rustle as her daddy removed from it what she presumed to be a newspaper.

"This is from the day after," he said, before taking a deep breath. "_Eighteen-year-old Noah Puckerman of Lima, Ohio has been branded a hero after he sensationally rescued childhood friend Rachel Berry, also eighteen, from the recently massacred William McKinley High School yesterday, where they were both shot._" Rachel's heart sank."_The teenager, who spent time in the notorious juvenile detention centre The Mondale School for Boys in 2010_, _had been locking his car when the alarm was made and bravely stormed in to rescue Miss Berry after discovering she had not escaped the building _-"

Rachel suddenly felt all the breath in her body _whoosh _out of her. She coughed violently, partly out of shock and partly because their seemed to be no air left inside her. She vaguely registered her fathers and Mrs Puckerman reacting. She could barely make out what they were saying to her; their words mingled with chairs scraping, her own panting, the revelation echoing in her mind. Her head was spinning, and only one thing registered.

_Noah wasn't in the building. He was safe. He sacrificed his safety to save me._

_**Puck**_

Puck was _sick_. He was sick of this goddamn place – the people, this stupid ass-less gown thing he was wearing, the ward, the lumpy pillows, the food (which was definitely _not _kosher).

He was sick of sitting here in this godforsaken bed, doing nothing. Even _school_ was better than this. He was sure that this ward was the most boring fucking hospital ward ever; it was full of old people (well, older than him anyway), and the freaky middle-aged woman in the bed opposite stared at him constantly. He honestly thought that she'd probably hyperventilate if he so much as _looked _in her direction for more than five seconds. He supposed that he should be flattered - he'd been in this damn place two-and-a-half weeks, his mohawk was getting floppy and he could _still _bring women to their knees. Yup, he was _the man_.

He looked at his bed side table and stared at the assortment of cards. The one his sister had made him at school (God, he missed being seven years old) was propped on top of a fucking _crossword puzzle book_ his ma had decided would _keep him occupied_. Like hell. (He'd decided he'd dreamt the time he'd completed one, a few days earlier, when he was so bored out of his mind that even crosswords had seemed preferable to watching the ceiling.)

He just wanted to get out of here. His shoulder (where he'd been shot) was all bandaged up and stuff, he could walk fine, his concussion had gone, he could see no reason _whatsoever _why they were still cooping him up in this stupid place. Seriously, he was considering climbing out the fucking window.

His mood improved considerably when he heard his ma's footsteps. (He'd been so bored he could now tell who, nurse, doctor or visitor, was approaching his bed without even looking.) She was carrying a canvas bag containing what he hoped to be food- this damn hospital _stuff_ was horrific.

She slumped down in the armchair next to him, staring at him. He took in the bags under her eyes, the slant of her shoulders. She was completely worn down and it showed.

"So? She woken up again yet?" They started every visit this way. Either him asking if she'd woken up, or, since two days ago, asking if there was any more news.

"Reporters are still outside," she noted, ignoring him, reaching down into her canvas bag and loading the food (_yes!_) it contained into his cabinet. "I feel like a zoo animal when I come in here, it's ridiculous," she continued, and there was something off about her. About the way her eyes seemed to search him when she looked at him. Her ignoring his question. This was freaking Puck out; he had every right to know! He huffed, his annoyance and being stuck in this goddamn place renewed.

"Ma," he said expectantly.

His ma sat back and took a deep breath, staring at him _like that_ again. Seriously, he was starting to get freaked out. Was Rachel okay? She hadn't gone back into a coma, had she? Could that even _happen_?

"Noah …" his ma started. There was a long pause.

"_Ma_," he said again, urgently.

"What did you … I know it's difficult to think about," his ma tried again. She put his hand on his and stroked it. Shit, this was freaking him out. "Did you … what did you and Rachel talk about? You know, when you … rescued her?"

"Well, we didn't exactly talk 'bout the weather," said Puck dryly, squirming at the word _rescued_. He was trying to ignore the feeling of his ma's hand against his. Fuck, if this wasn't super uncomfortable then he didn't know what was.

"No, no, of … of course not," she said, seeming flustered. The stroking continued. "I mean … did you …"

"Spit it out, ma."

"Right. Yes." Another deep breath. "Why did you let Rachel believe that you were already in the school and found her on your way out?"

Shit. He was not expecting _that_.

He took his hand out from underneath hers and turned his head away. What did his ma think, that he was going to sit and explain to her that _by the way, I was out standing by my truck for a few minutes after this whole thing even started, and then I stormed into the building when the shooter was still in to save you, getting myself almost killed in the process_? Fuck.

Rachel wasn't even supposed to find out about that. Granted, he was out for a few days, and then when he woke up he decided that Rachel could just believe what she wanted. He hadn't bargained on being on a _national hero_ and featured on the front page of every national newspaper.

His ma was still staring at his expectantly.

"What makes you think I knew she thought that?" he said evasively.

"That's crap Noah." Since when did his ma curse, even mildly? God, he'd messed her up. "You're not very good at hiding your emotions, you know. I thought that this was something you'd do. And I was proved right barely a minute ago."

Puck cursed her internally. She'd always been to read him like an open book, which was really frustrating because he _really fucking hated_ talking about stuff.

"So, Rachel _has _woken up again? Thanks for tellin' me," he said, changing the subject. He'd been pestering his ma about it every waking moment yet when it actually happens, she decides it's a good time for a game of twenty questions.

"Yes. And she's very distressed about this whole thing," said his ma. "When were you planning on letting her know, Noah? It's so important!"

Puck could feel the anger bubbling up inside him. This stuff was none of her business, what the fuck was she doing, sticking her nose in?

"Just – give it a rest, ma! It doesn't matter where the hell I was, I got her out, didn't I?" he shouted – he felt the eyes of the other patients swivel in his direction, but he didn't care. He just wanted his ma to stop talking. "Who cares if I was in or out?"

"Stop it, Noah!" Her voice was raised too, though not as aggressive as his. "How did you expect her not to find out, when there are reporters camping outside and it's on the front of every newspaper? And it makes all the difference in the world, you _risked your life_, you could have died _needlessly_! Did you see anybody else racing into a – a _death trap_ to save her?!"

"It wouldn't have been _needless_! She didn't die, there's a huge fucking difference!"

"Yes but _you could have_! And you _knew that_ and you _still went in_! Why?!" The whole ward was staring openly at them now, and Puck wanted nothing more than to punch their faces for them.

"I just did it, okay? I wasn't thinking, it just fucking happened!"

"_Don't swear at me!_ I didn't see anyone else 'not thinking', Noah! I could have _lost you_, I watched you get _shot_!" They were screaming at each other now, and a fierce, butch female nurse appeared, hands on hips.

"Excuse me, but this is a _hospital_! If you don't leave this minute, Mrs Puckerman, I'm gonna have'ta call security!"

His ma seemed to remember where they were. She looked around in embarrassment at the wide eyes of the other patients (who, in his opinion, should mind their own goddamn business), then stared at him, hard.

"Yes. I'm going. I'm so sorry."

But she continued to stare at him, like before, searching his face, as if she were looking for something. Answers, probably.

"I'm going to tell you one thing Noah," she said, pointing her finger at him. For possibly the first time in his entire life, he was scared of her – no, not of her. About what she was about to tell him. "You need to think, _long and hard_, about what it was that made you risk your life to save that girl. Because you don't do that for just anybody."

She looked at him one last time before turning on her heel and leaving. Puck slumped on his bed, thoughts that he had been pushing away for two-and-a-half weeks worming their way into his brain. Thoughts his ma had just voiced, made him face head on, though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

If he was true to himself, he knew _exactly_ why he'd gone into the building.

He couldn't live without Rachel Berry.

The real question, though, was _why_.


End file.
